


You in Me

by loonapidity



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Cussing, Death, F/F, Fluff and Angst, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, based on you in me mv from kard, basically yanderes, don't do this at home y'all, light gore??, these two relationships are pretty toxic in this one, this is a mess i'm sorry, why do i do this to my ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 12:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17808323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonapidity/pseuds/loonapidity
Summary: A bitter private investigator believes there's something wrong at Apego.(She's right.)





	You in Me

**Author's Note:**

> kard - you in me
> 
> n e ways, if you still decided to read this story despite the cringy description, thank you!! i'm also sorry for the long disappearance, school and life has really been taking up my time lately, but i promise i'll do my best to write as often as i can!! hope you enjoy this thing for now though~

"Apego, huh?"

Rini stands in front of the seemingly dingy motel, a cigarette hanging between her outstretched fingers. She lets the smoke cloud up the otherwise clear night sky before taking a drag, letting the nicotine fill up her lungs. They say you'd die quicker the more you smoked, and while Rini did give a damn about that, it's used for the wrong reason. If anything, Rini is hoping to die quicker if that meant the police would quit forcing her into being one of their pawns. They would always tell her she is merely a private investigator called in for extra coverage, but she knows better.

From the corner of her eye, she spots the rest of the crusty wooden doors, each painted a hideous color that somehow ends up complimenting each other. It doesn't make sense that the motel's horrendous design works, like how the caretaker always has a thousand megawatt smile, or how all the other guests are rarely ever seen, and even if she does spot them they're always alone; it's never a couple, a family, or a group of friends. It's usually a lone, desperate businessman, maybe a rebellious biker, maybe a lost backpacker. But they're always... they're always alone.

'There's something up with this motel,' Rini thinks, no, knows. Her senses are kicking in, the one they'd describe as 'fight or flight', and they're ringing, setting off a plethora of warnings inside of her head. If she hadn't been tasked with her current case, she would already be sneaking around, trying to dig around for any dirt she can find.

Rini curses at that revelation, inhaling more of that intoxicating scent in an attempt to soothe her boiling anger. That's why they really called her in, isn't it? They'd known she was lodging in Apego for the time being due to renovations of the apartment she originally lived in. They'd known that there wasn't a single case she was working on. They'd known that Rini was famous (or infamous, depending on who you're asking) for her impeccable detective instinct. Sure, maybe it was all just a coincidence and Apego isn't yet another of the government's dirty secrets, but she's so used to being tricked that she's suspecting that it's the opposite.

"I wonder what's really your story, Apego," Rini muses. Smoke curls higher and higher up, dark grey swirling and swishing to form a pattern like a modern art piece, so out of place with the twinkling stars above. The girl takes another whiff of the gas before squeezing her eyes shut, willingly submitting herself to numbness as she lets her mind go blank.

The night is still and quiet, Rini notes.

...

A ceiling fan lazily whirls above, the grating sound annoyingly bouncing off the walls. There's also some sort of fancy light decoration next to it as well - a horrible design choice, really - and though it's turned on properly, the room is only barely lit. The lighting, however, still reveals miscellaneous pieces of clothing strewn about the carpeted flooring and the simple (cheap?) furniture. The room oddly gives off a cozy feel to it, with its striped couch and half-eaten takeout stacked away on top of a rickety coffee table.

Amidst the homey mess is Sayori, sitting down among fluffy bed sheets, thin, frail arms hugging her knees. Her sapphire-blue eyes boredly watch the tiny television across her, the fuzzy screen showing some cheesy romance anime that merely reminds her that she's cold. She's already turned off the AC and kicked the heater up a notch, but she feels like she's literally about to freeze into a walking popsicle. Whimpering, she brings her gangly legs even closer to her chest.

"Nat, I'm cold."

No response. Sayori huffs, cheeks puffed out as she pouts.

"Nattttt," Sayori whines, shimmying her way over to the edge of the bed. "Are you even listening to me?"

Sayori reaches the edge, the big, stuffy blanket now dipping below not just from gravity but from the weight on it as well. Natsuki is propped up against the soft material, legs in a crisscross position. Her hands are clasped together as if she's trying to increase her own body warmth, although her still fingers don't really do much else to help.

"Hey? You okay?"

Natsuki gives the girl a dismissive shrug. She doesn't bother to make any other sort of movement as she sits there, magenta irises staring straight ahead. Sayori can't possibly think of what Natsuki could be thinking about that's making her this unresponsive.

Concern etching onto her features, Sayori leans her head down, her peach-colored hair brushing against Natsuki's own bright pink tresses. Sayori lets her fingers trail downwards and sink into the t-shirt Natsuki is wearing. A chill suddenly swarms over Sayori as soon as she does so, and she hurriedly pulls her hand back, fingers arching as if frozen in place.

"You're freezing!" Sayori cries, lines of worry already creasing into her skin. "Why didn't you tell me before? I would've cuddled you if you did!"

"M'fine," Natsuki mumbles. Sayori frowns, mostly from the fact that Natsuki is practically a breathing ice cube and is thus clearly not fine. Sayori quickly gets up from her previous position and hops off the bed before plopping down beside Natsuki, who is, surprisingly, not protesting at all.

"You don't need to be shy," Sayori chirps, snuggling up to the currently blank-faced girl. Giggling, Sayori continues, "You're cute when you're shy, but I'll sacrifice seeing your cuteness if that means you'll be warm."

Sayori wraps her arms around Natsuki's, noting how the latter's skin is icy to the touch. Not really that she's any warmer herself, but Natsuki is so cold that it's as if all her natural body warmth has been thawed by the low temperature. Sayori leans her head against Natsuki's shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her chapped lips and a reprimand resting on her tongue. But she lets the scolding remain in its place, instead choosing to close her eyes and hope that some of her own warmth will make its way to Natsuki's frigid form.

...

Monika is bored. Not so bored that she'd poke her eyeballs out with a toothpick to try and entertain herself, but there's simply not much going on right now. She and Yuri are merely eating, a mundane activity that they always do at home, except here it's minus the lighthearted talks the girl's accustomed to back in their shared apartment.

Monika looks up from her steak to only see Yuri quietly chew on hers. Squinting her emerald-green eyes in observation, the brunette takes notice of the fact that Yuri doesn't bother to do any more movement, arms seemingly stuck in a position that makes her look like she's just finished cutting another piece of her food. When the violet-haired beauty does swallow her food, she brings one more piece to her lips and the entire process repeats, as if Yuri was only a machine rather than a sentient human being.

"Yuri?" Monika whispers, gaze softening as she realizes that Yuri seems to be a little off. "You okay?"

Yuri doesn't bother to respond, instead of continuing to slowly nibble away at her own steak, pupils shrunken while she promptly ignores the girl across her. Monika frowns, brow furrowing as she gets up from her seat, the cogs in her brain turning in an attempt of forming an idea on coaxing the girl to speak something.

As silent as a mouse, Monika glides over to a squat drawer, carved out of caramel wood with its mirror reflecting her own disgruntled expression as she stares back at it. Her mind mulls over the oddity of her girlfriend barely responding to her previous words, only growing more and more confused the more she thinks about it. There are a hundred different possibilities going round and round inside of her head, and she can practically hear her thoughts, words ladened with charm in the same way she usually voices them out loud. There's a dull pain beginning to throb in her forehead, caused by all those musings crowding her mind and then lumping together in a jumble of ideas, so messed up that they're no longer incoherent anymore. Monika groans at the realization, hands reaching up to massage her aching head, slender fingers threading through her hair strands in a sort of automatic way.

With the pain slowly dissipating afterward, Monika's eyes try to register her surroundings better, hands gripping onto the wooden surface behind her. There's a ceiling fan whirring, creating a low, raspy sound akin to a grater grating some rough object, a ridiculously unmatching light decoration right next to it. There's a fancy bed covered by an unwrinkled blue blanket and flanked by two mahogany bedside tables and brightly lit lamps, and in the corner is yet another drawer, a tray of a bucket of ice with a lone bottle of wine on it.

Monika's watchful irises briefly flit to Yuri, taking in the way the older continues to robotically eat her food. It seems as if she's barely made any progress in finishing her steak, and Monika swears that hunk of meat is the exact same shape as when she first got up from her seat. Yuri still hasn't made any attempt in communication, so Monika tries to fill in that deafening silence.

"Wine, Yuri?"

Monika doesn't wait for a reply, swiftly striding over to said beverage. Careful hands pick up the metal tray, and it takes only a few, large steps for her to reach Yuri.

For the first time in the entire night, Yuri has some sort of response to the other. Just as Monika gently places the tray on their little dining table, Yuri looks up, face either blank or seriously lost in thought.

"Yuri?" Monika whispers. The aforementioned girl doesn't say anything back, but she does let her utensils drop onto the tablecloth before reaching her hand out to Monika's. Not really quite understanding the former's intention, Monika hesitantly opens up one of her palms to let her do whatever she had planned.

Yuri's hand lightly brushes against Monika's. Her skin is deathly cold, sending a chill down Monika's spine upon contact, but the latter makes no move to withdraw her hand. Yuri delicately flips Monika's palm and places a soft kiss on the smooth skin. No goosebumps are dancing across her arm, but Monika smiles anyway.

...

"I like this," Sayori says. One of her fingers is slowly rubbing Natsuki's arm, moving up and down hypnotically. It's quiet, with only the sound of their breaths mingling together. There's still the ceiling fan's obnoxious jarring noise, sure, but Sayori pays no attention to it. "Don't you like this too, Nat?"

Natsuki doesn't say anything back, nor does she even lift a finger; Sayori furrows her brow at that. Why hadn't Natsuki responded at all? Sure, the girl isn't as emotive as she once was, but she'd always have some sort of short reply to Sayori's endless rambling. It's unlike of Natsuki to completely leave Sayori hanging.

"Nat?" Sayori asks, wincing immediately afterward from the high-pitched crack in her voice. She can't help but let her hands grow shaky, beads of sweat beginning to form all over her skin.

Nervous. Sayori's nervous. She probably shouldn't be, but her senses are telling her that something is wrong, terribly wrong. And the anxiety is too quick, coursing through her veins and reaching all the parts of her body before she can calm herself, and before she knows it Sayori starts violently rocking Natsuki's frame back and forth, back and forth, back and-

"Nat! Nat!" Sayori cries, breathing heavily in between each syllable, shoulders tensely rising and falling like a violent tide. Her eyes merely continue to widen as she realizes Natsuki hasn't even reacted to her panic. Clammy hands slowly retract, Sayori's frantic eyes desperately searching for any sign of life in Natsuki. 

There's none.

Sayori stumbles backward, heart racing a million miles an hour. With the little amount of strength she has left, Sayori forces herself to stand up. Shaky hands run through her hair, fingernails digging into her scalp. It hurts, but Sayori doesn't care. She just needs something else to focus on, to let herself soothe her nerves a bit, to clear up her mind a little.

Maybe she's jumping to conclusions. Natsuki could've easily been spacing out. It's even more unlikely, but it's logical, isn't it? 'Yeah, it's logical,' Sayori thinks. There's simply no other reason for Natsuki to be so lifeless out of nowhere. Right?

Sayori looks over at Natsuki; she's still in the exact same position the former had left her in, limbs thrown about like an abandoned marionette. Sayori doesn't know whether or not she's relieved that Natsuki hasn't stared at her in horror for her freak out session, or worried for that very reason.

"It's okay, Sayori, it's okay," she mumbles absentmindedly to herself, swiveling away from the cause of all her worries and hugging herself. Her breathing has slowed down, and now Sayori is taking in deep breaths, sweet nothings her mind made up being the only thing she focuses on. "Just... turn around, okay, Sayori? Nat's probably worried. Y-yeah, she's worried."

Slowly, Sayori turns around, preparing herself for the worst. Natsuki still hasn't even budged an inch. It's unsettling, how long she can remain in that position without any sort of complaint. Sayori's eyes trace out everything they can of Natsuki, hopelessly trying to identify the symptoms of anything she knows that could explain.... this. There is, actually, already an answer she's managed to come up with, a stray, miscellaneous thought that randomly popped up among the endless maze of her brain. But it's, it's too cruel of a reality for her to bare, so surely it can't be the truth.

Eyes sweeping over Natsuki's figure once more, Sayori truly studies the girl. Her hair is a mess, strands poking out oddly, skin deathly pale among all the warm, fuzzy colors of the room. And her eyes, those shiny magenta irises that usually glint with mirth (because Sayori never fails to get herself into silly antics), they're not as bright as they used to be. Even as Sayori continues to stare, the color in her eyes only seems to dull, the velvety shade slowly fading away into a greyish pink.

Wait, it's fading?

"Nat..?" Sayori asks, voice cracking at the end. Hysteria creeps throughout her body like some unwanted disease, and if that feeling of dread dizzying all her senses was tangible, she'd be completely wrapped up in its darkness, trapped and alone and not a single cry of help able to break through its hold. For a split second, Sayori nearly questions her "Are you awake?", but that would've been unreasonable - of course Natsuki is awake - so instead she opts with a weakly inquired, "You okay?"

Natsuki still isn't answering. The life appears to have left her, chest no longer limply heaving up and down in its usual pattern and lips partly open without even a breath leaving it. Sayori attempts to gulp down her fear, but as she observes Natsuki for longer and longer, she just looks more lifeless than the second before.

'Snap out of it,' her brain commands. Her hands have curled into fists, a tremor rattling her entire physique, knuckles practically white as she digs her fingernails into her squishy flesh and grinds down on her teeth. Snap out of it snap out of it snap out of it snap out... snap out...

'Nail clippers,' is what her mind immediately supplies. Sayori doesn't understand why that's the first thing that pops up from the muddle of speculations in her head, but she does remember the one time Natsuki had asked her help with cutting her nails. Or was it twice? Thrice? More times than that? Sayori honestly can't recall.

Curious, Sayori peeks over at Natsuki's hands, slightly calloused from all the baking she's done. Her nails are long and jagged as if she'd cut them clumsily, and while Natsuki does usually keep her nails long due to constantly painting them, it's unusual of them to be pointed at such random intervals. There's a sort of neatness to everything Natsuki does; sure, their apartment is a mess and neither really care about that, but when Natsuki actually tries to tidy up, their old place looks less like a mini hurricane had passed through and more like two struggling girlfriends attempting to make a life for themselves. It reminds Sayori of her own notorious habits, how her own nails always look, according to Hibiki, 'kinda funky' and that she's banned from doing laundry for mixing the white clothes with the colored ones one too many times.

It's chaotic, but Sayori is the one who's supposed chaotic. Although Natsuki has the capability of being such and there are times she puts those skills to use, she also bothers to be lawful if she believes the rules line up with her own code of conduct. Keeping her nails smooth and manicured is part of her personal code of conduct.

Had Sayori recently cut Natsuki's nails for her? Surely that must be it. There's no way that hazardous handiwork was by Natsuki's own careful fingers. A certain memory promptly appears, and Sayori watches over a past version of herself gawkily trim Natsuki's nails, face adorably scrunched up with absolute concentration and head bent over between her knees as she squints at those delicate fingers she's so used to intertwining with hers. And that part is familiar to the sequence of events her brain has claimed to be the truth, but then, there's Natsuki. Natsuki, who should've been fondly smiling while scolding her for nearly leaving a bloody scratch and failing to hide herself giggling all cutely at Sayori's frantic tries, sitting there on that plastic stool, body slumping forwards with her hair down like she was in despair. But she didn't seem to be upset at all, and if anything, she merely looked numb, devoid of any sort of feeling that grief would usually require, no matter how depressing. It wasn't close at all to being tired, even, for Natsuki just looked... hollow. Like a body without a soul.

Dead people don't have souls.

"Natsuki!" Sayori screams. She rushes over to the girl, hysteria and denial washing over her like a tidal wave. Tears prick the corners of her eyes, hot and sharp against her oh so delicate skin, her own weak and trembling hands shaking and shaking Natsuki. Why isn't Natsuki saying anything? Doing something? She can't be dead, can't she?

"Natsuki, wake up! Wake up, the birds are chirping outside! Natsuki!" Sayori yells into her ear. Her grip on Natsuki's arms tightens, keen fingernails digging into the ghastly-looking flesh, nearly drawing blood but not a single reaction from Natsuki. Instead, her body just sags, as if it were a drenched sack of potatoes rather than a living, breathing human being. Sayori is wailing at this point.

"Natsuki," Sayori cries, sniffles and hiccups and stutters erupting from her chest. "Natsuki, please. Natsuki. Natsuki. Wake up. Please."

Sayori crumples to the ground, hugging Natsuki's body to her chest before sobbing into her clothed shoulder. Pain claws at her guts, the mantra of 'why' being the only thing her mind can utter, and it does so repeatedly, over and over again like some broken record player. 

The coziness of the room does nothing to comfort Sayori. No, it only hurts her even more, that Natsuki's sensible words aren't being whispered into her ear right now. The silence grates at her eardrums, annoying loud and unbearable, resembling a cacophony far more piercing than the stupid ceiling fan's guttural sounds. All those warm colors of the curtains and the couch and even that one painting of the motel with the words 'Apego' beautifully scribed onto it seem so far away from Sayori's reach, not while such a cold and dull body is being limply held in the embrace of her frail, shaking arms. She's supposed to be happy in such a homey room, but she just feels like crawling under the blanket and staying there forever, bawling about the fact that her dear girlfriend is dead. Dead and most likely stashed away in the bathroom because Sayori can't handle the fact that Natsuki will never be able to love her again.

(Sayori has woken up.)

...

"I'd like it if you spoke up more, Yuri," Monika sighs, rosy lips curving into a small, fond smile. "It's fine if you're not comfortable yet, but sometimes I'd like to kiss you and I can't do that without your consent, can't I?"

Monika giggles, long and skilled fingers wrapping around the wine bottle before pouring some of the brightly-tinted drink into two crystalline glasses. Once satisfied with her work, Monika looks up again only to find Yuri staring at her.

"Hmm? What is it, Yuri?"

The purple-eyed girl jumps up in surprise at the other's words, as if she wasn't expecting Monika to notice. A faint blush dusts her cheeks, and then shyly, she holds up a finger pointing towards her face.

"Your face? There's nothing on it," Monika says, face forming a confused yet smiley expression. Yuri quickly shakes her head, glinted tresses swishing back and forth with the movements of her head. Pale skin reddening, she slightly pouts her lips while pointing at Monika's own.

"Oh.. oh!" Monika exclaims, suddenly feeling very flustered. "You.. you want a kiss?"

Yuri timidly nods. Now it's Monika's turn to blush, a deep, dark shade of red painting her cheeks.

Shaking lightly, Yuri stands up from her seat, bracing her palms onto the clothed table and leaning forward; Monika meets her halfway, tilting her head upwards. There's a bumping of noses, but the kiss is still soft, warm even. Yuri looks a little flustered, but she manages a smile into the kiss, just to make sure the shorter of the two doesn't mistake her nerves for discomfort, and Monika fucking giggles.

"You're cute," Monika breathes out when they break apart, brain still as mushed up as her gooey insides. "So cute."

Yuri stutters, hands clenched into fists right above her heart as her blush spreads even further. She quietly mutters a "you too" before unceremoniously flopping back down into her seat.

"I'm glad I'm with you," Monika begins. She walks over to Yuri, wrapping her arms around her in a light embrace. "You're one of the most beautiful people I know, both inside out."

Monika leans over, pressing her cheek against Yuri's. She can hear Yuri breathing faintly as if there wasn't enough air in her lungs, and the brunette taps three times on her exposed shoulder.

Yuri doesn't tap back.

"It's alright if you don't want anything more intimate, I won't be mad," Monika murmurs, voice low and soothing, like a honeyed whisper. "I'm happy already. I'll always be happy with you, no matter what. I promised that once."

"Do you remember when I promised you that, Yuri? We were fighting. We were both crying, angrily shouting at each other. You said you didn't love me anymore, that maybe we weren't fit for each other in the end. I said that you should give us just one more chance because I knew we could learn to love each other again. And then, while we were sobbing into each other's shoulders, I promised you that."

"I love you. Maybe I could write a thousand melodies about it, but they'll always mean the same. I don't know what I'd do without you, Yuri. I think I would've gone crazy. Even now, just thinking about it makes me shudder."

Monika tightens her hold on Yuri, fingernails nearly scratching ugly, red scars into Yuri's pale skin. She gives the unresponsive girl an airy smile.

"Can you promise me you won't ever leave me? That's not too much, right? You already love me."

Yuri doesn't answer. If anything, her body slumps down into her seat, violet hair tumbling down to cover her face.

Monika tsks at that, reaching her hands out to part Yuri's fringe. With her hair out of the way, Yuri looks even less lively. Her once deep purple irises no longer hold that mysterious glimmer and they roll backwards in their eye sockets. There are dark bags under her eyes, her lips now chapped instead of smooth, cheeks no longer rose-tinted. And what is most unsettling about her appearance is her neck, peppered with sharp marks that once upon a time might have oozed out blood.

"I knew you'd say yes."

Monika giggles again, but it sounds more sinister rather than adorable.

(Monika knows she'll always be asleep.)


End file.
